I'm no one's worker, I'm no one's pride

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I’ve really, really missed writing this blog.
Really.




Recap of the last 4-5 months:

Back in March, when I had to return to Sweden for a month because my Australian Work Visa ran out, Life asked me to rethink my home country as a possible habitat. Considering how things turned out, that’s quite ironic. Or brutal, depending on how you see it.
To convince me moving back home would be fabulous, Life threw the most compelling argument she had at me; Scandinavian sunshine. To an outsider it might be hard (if at all possible) to understand how extraordinary this is, but being something of a rarity to us Swedes, we happily relish in the slightest bit of warmth, and feel strangely privileged when the weather is good. And Swedish spring really is something else. The air feels clean and soft, warm without being intrusive and uncomfortable, and it seems like the whole nation collectively turns into one massive sect of devout Ra-worshippers. On sunny spring days the sight of people smilingly turning their faces towards the sun, eyes closed and with a look of sheer bliss and true appreciation, is as common as pink in a porno.

If Life was trying to give me hints that it might be time to give up my traveling lifestyle, she was doing a pretty good job; for the first time since moving away from Sweden to greener pastures about 5 years ago, everybody seemed to be asking me when I was planning on returning “home”. So many of my close ones asked me this question that it started to feel like a well-rehearsed orchestra, or maybe some kind of friendly collusion. Sometimes I offered all the reasons for why I’m not happy in my home country, claiming that I suffer from some incurable Sweden-allergy, other times I just laughed at the preposterous suggestion of me actually living there again. “It’s simply not home to me anymore”, I tried to explain to one friend, but he just looked curiously at me, and I let out a sigh.
Does anyone even know me these days? Like really know me? I’ve spent most of these last years far away from all the people who have actually known me for a longer time. I’m always off somewhere creating new relations with new people, seeing new things, experiencing new stuff, all of which is giving me more to miss. I want to live in at least 4 different cities, unfortunately spread over three different continents, and I want all my loved ones right next to me at all times.
How will I ever be able to choose one spot to live at, with so many great options, and with all these inspiring friends located in all corners of the globe? And what does one do when the only place where you’re actually allowed to live, and where working and staying indefinitely poses no problem, is the one place you fear you can’t remain content in without the help of pharmaceutical drugs?

Still, if I had to summarize that Spring month in Sweden, I would have to say it was a few fantastic weeks of connecting and re-connecting. I turned acquaintances into friendships, suddenly claiming a few dudes as my own friends and no longer my friends' friends. And I had the luck to time my visit with a perfect opportunity to easily meet up with people from 10 years ago.
But I couldn’t tell whether my high spirits and generally happy outlook during that month was a realistic reflection of how I would feel if living in Sweden full-time, or if my time was fun and exciting only because I knew I’d be leaving soon.
Either way, at the end of that month I got on a flight back to Sydney, with a vague plan for no more than three months ahead.

My flight back home was with Air China, and I’ve since vowed to never again support that company with my stingy dollars. Their entertainment system was nothing short of a travesty of technology, and it felt like I was time traveling in more ways than just crossing time zones; all their equipment seemed to be from the early 90’s. In the video presentation where you’re informed that it’s prohibited to use laptops and cell phones during taxi, take-off and landing, they showed the forbidden items one by one and then drew a big, red cross over them. But the electronics they used in this clip were so old that the first thing my brain thought when seeing it was that it was prohibited to use laptops the size of a small table, as well as Nokia’s very first commercial cell phone from anno 1992.
In addition to this, the food sucked big sweaty balls, and I got a sense that every single thing around me was grimy; utensils, seat tables, cups, dinner trays, the windows, even the seats themselves. The discomfort this notion caused was further amplified by the disgusting odor of filthy hobo that my seat companion emitted. To not demand a seat change may have been the closest I’ve ever come to voiceless self-mutilation. The piquant smell of his dirty hair had an unsurpassed acridity, and these greasy strands lay like a thick table cloth on top of an oily, pimple-covered face. He created the impression that he was a creature completely oblivious to the concept of hygiene, and I fear that may have been an accurate assessment. The olfactory rape in combination with the constant fear of machinery failure due to the outdated technology that I had paid money to be killed by made my 9 hour long flight quite un-enjoyable, to say the least.

Enough about Air China. Upon my return to Sydney the familiar feeling of effortlessness in combination with definite contentment once again filled my system. I was back home. Bar for the evil repercussions from a severe case of jetlag caused by a completely antipodean journey, life could not have been better these first days. Sydney had been rainy and cold for weeks, but like so many other times the sunshine and warmth seemed to arrive with me, and I basked in beautiful weather while catching up with all the people I had missed so much while gone.
I spent 3 turbulent yet happy months in the city of my dreams, living it up with my friends in most ways possible. There were definitely calamities for me to tackle, but I’d say pretty much everything was great anyway, maybe with the exception of a coffee shop flirt that got a bit out of hand and eventually turned sour. We’re now “friends staying in touch”, which means I email him on occasions, my usual novel-length emails, and he responds with three or four laconic lines, all of which express no less than ZERO interest in me and my life.
Being utterly self-absorbed was one of his shortcomings.
Sucking in bed was another.

Just a few days after my darling mate Jamie finally returned to Sydney from Paris where he had spent the last 6 months, it was time for me to go to New Zealand so that I could return to Australia and renew my tourist visa. I managed to drag his jetlagged ass out to see me before I left, although there really wasn't much of a rush, since I would only be gone for 10 days anyway. Or was I?
While in NZ, still oblivious to the tragedy at hand, I happily went sightseeing every day, visiting caves, waterfalls and black sand beaches. My friend Andrea and her girlfriend Eva hosted me for my whole stay, and we had a great time together, perfectly capped off by a fun, inebriated Friday night out. I was sad to leave them when my shuttle came to take me to the airport at 4AM, but we agreed they’d come visit me in Sydney soon.

Most of you know what happened next, but for those of you who don’t, here's the skinny; I got stopped at the border where they interviewed for an hour and a half. The verdict: deportation. For 3 long years I am barred from the one place where I’ve felt more at home than anywhere else.
Yes, it really blows, and yes, I’m trying to deal with it ever so gracefully. After all, everything - even shit - happens for a reason, and life is no more and no less than what you make of it. I certainly don't scoff at the 'mind over matter'-notion, I practically live by it. That type of ‘positive thinking’ mumbo jumbo became paramount when I was locked up in a bare holding room, not to mention when taken to the detention center overnight.
I had begged to be held overnight instead of being sent away the same day, since this would allow me to have visitors, and although I will never know if my sweet interviewer is the reason that wish was granted, I'm terribly grateful. The following day I got a chance to say goodbye to whoever could make it out to Villawood, and 8 dear friends showed up to bid farewell. Ironically, the 90 minutes I got with my mates then will forever remain some of the best 90 minutes of my life. A painfully brief moment crammed with so many conflicting emotions, and so little time. I spent my minutes wisely, crawling from one embrace in the couch to another, trying to inhale as much as possible of my friends.
Life is rarely that intense, unless you’re on drugs. It was beautiful.

Then came the dreaded moment when the escorting officers told me to come with them, and just like that, they shipped me back home. Two people escorted me to the airport, then three others took me through culverts and short cuts to get to my aircraft. At each stop on my route I was escorted to and from the plane by airport officials. I wasn’t even allowed to order alcohol on the plane, but the two Spanish lads next to me thought that was sure to be against the universal Declaration of Human Rights, and they insisted on me having their wine and beer. Let me assure you I did not turn down this offer.

Now I’ve been in Sweden for a month, and money is scarce. In a life with this little money, I get by on pure insistence.
I'm already indebted to my Mom, with no real prospect of how to pay her back. Other than getting drunk on weekdays, bumming around the city and eating a bit less than my body asks for, I’ve also been looking for work, which so far has yielded nothing. But shame on she who gives up! as we say in Sweden. Something will come my way soon.
After 30 days in my home country, however, I decided I needed a little break before I carried on with my mission of trying to find true love for this Land of Lagom, so I jumped on a bus to Norway. I arrived a few nights ago, equipped with nothing but a plan to chill with my brother here in Oslo until I hear from a job back in Malmoe, or until end of September, whichever comes first.
In other words; while stuck in what has to be the most dire lack of funds I’ve ever found myself in, I’ve chosen to aggravate the situation by spending a month in the city that was rated the World’s Most Expensive City by the Economist Intelligence Unit's Worldwide Cost of Living. That may have been the dumbest and most irrational decision I've ever made, and I’m proud to say I've achieved this level of stupidity without one single year at university.

Part of me has started to think that maybe, just maybe, it's about time I take the training wheels off my life. It's been an insanely fun ride, crazy curvy topsy-turvy with a few silly bumps and obstacles along the way, and although I don't really feel like changing my means of transportation, there are things that tell me that it might be time to finally grow up. Nevermind that I shudder just from writing those words.
When I look at my life, it's clear that I've never really had a plan for anything, ever. I seem to just stumble upon people, jobs, trips, relationships and opportunities, and I go with the flow, adapting to whatever new situation I find myself in, usually making something good and rewarding out of it. But I don't make many conscious choices with my future in mind, unless the following 2 months really count as 'my future'. I just keep chasing the next fun thing, looking for instant gratification at all times, which leaves me with great photos on Facebook, but no platform in life. And the ever-present poverty will probably get real old, real soon.

What I'm saying, dear friends, is that if there were ever a good time to change my lifestyle in a dramatic way and succumb to the daily humdrum of a 9-5 and mortgage payments, it would probably be now. There are things holding me hostage in Sweden for a while, things that aren't allowing me to easily up and go again. Or escape, as people have chosen to put it at times. Right now everything requires time, which in turn requires patience, something we all know I possess none of. In my most mature moments I recognize all this, and I see that now would be the time to relax and breathe a bit, yet every particle of me is dying to leave and go anywhere else than Sweden, and preferably before fall. My homeland terrifies me with its cold, dark autumn, a seasonal climate so drab I fear for my happiness and mental health. I worry my happy-go-lucky state of mind won't make it unscathed through the rough Swedish winter, so it's perfectly understandable that my self-preservation is telling me to do like a tree and leave. But at the moment, that option doesn't exist, so I'm just going to have to find a way to get through this.
Thank God there's coffee. And alcohol.

Yup, this will be tough.

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Photos

Celebrating Swedish National Day in Sydney!

Cooks Bay in NZ

Bridal Veils Falls

Andrea and Edvard the she-cat

Me and Edvard

Profundity from Bridget

Glenn and Dave

D-day
Eight fantastic people

White-out, anyone?

Sunrise

Deported, yet artistic